


In-Between

by CharlieNozaki



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, College, Drama, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sexuality, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieNozaki/pseuds/CharlieNozaki
Summary: One red-light-running asshole. Two unsuspecting strangers. One collision course.(Modern AU. Includes artwork).





	In-Between

* * *

There was really nothing better than cruising out of the city (finally), in his beat-up Jeep, shoving Taco Bell in his face and blasting music, knowing it was now summer and he had zero responsibilities for the next four months. If Zoro could’ve cracked a few beers, he definitely would’ve, but Red Bull would have to do for now, at least until he made the two hour trek back to his uncle’s.

But he couldn’t feel too grumpy about that, because the semester was over. Junior year done.

How he continued to survive at university with passable enough grades was beyond him. Really it was beyond everyone. It was obvious kendo was all he cared about.

He hadn’t flunked out yet though, defying his uncle’s steely expectations for sure, and he also hadn’t gotten himself into any trouble, despite having moved into a house this year with the most trouble-prone trio of brothers he could have possibly found.

Ace, Luffy, and Sabo weren’t _really_ brothers. And they certainly weren’t a fraternity either, but Luffy had insisted they refer to each other as such, apparently having known each other for some years before college and---yeah, Zoro didn’t much care about that. He’d met Luffy at the gym one day last summer, and the rest was history.

He could’ve stayed the summer in the city with them, but he’d wanted to go back home to help his uncle at the dojo, and frankly, he was a little tired of living in such a populated place. So here he was, passing the afternoon in a car full of shit that he’d rather sloppily packed, and a burrito or two shoved in his mouth.

It was a nightmare to get out of the city to the open highway, and his stupid phone GPS kept re-routing itself, but he knew he lived in the direction of north, so he figured if he just kept driving uptown, he’d get there eventually.

Fingers he stuck in his mouth to lick off some grease, absently glancing over to the passenger’s seat at the wadded-up food bag he’d tossed there. There were probably napkins in there, but he had jeans, so hands wiped themselves there instead. Black denim wouldn’t show stains, surely.

He bobbed his head a little to his music, almost mouthing a few words before he remembered he was at a red light, and his stupid karaoke would be perfectly visible to others.

Instead, he reached over to pull his can of Red Bull from the cup holder and chug back a few gulps as the car idled.

Long-ass red light, he thought, noting the line of cars that was already piling up on the other side of the road, across the intersection.

He was first in line, and part of him wanted to gun it as soon as the light changed, just for a short stretch. He knew the engine on his car could be loud when he revved it, and maybe it would be fun to spook the prissy blue BMW currently stopped diagonal from him.

Blame it on the Red Bull, but he decided to do it, a grin coming to his face and hands twisting on the steering wheel in anticipation when he saw the passing cars begin to thin on the perpendicular road.

He craned his neck, watching the opposite stoplight as it went from yellow to red.

Then, eyes back on the road in front of him.

The light turned green.

And he floored it forward…..just as one final reckless car came hurtling through the red light straight towards him.

His eyes widened, and he swerved hard out of the way instinctively, with nowhere to go but towards the middle of the intersection.

The oncoming car somehow avoided him, tires screeching as it sped past his bumper, missing his car by a hair and continuing on its fucking irresponsible way as if nothing had happened.

But Zoro couldn’t stop, couldn’t correct his own car in time, and in fact, the offending car had crossed paths with the blue BMW as well, forcing that driver to do the same exact thing Zoro had.

And now the two of them were on a fast head-on collision course that, as far as Zoro could tell through his blind panic, was completely unavoidable.

Still, he slammed on his brakes, knowing he couldn’t turn away in time, but hoping, fucking _praying_ for the first time ever, that he could at least slow down or stop.

Brake pedal to the floor, he jolted forward _hard_ against his seatbelt, enough to make his vision go completely white for a second with the crushing pain.

The impact sent him right back against the seat again, head rattling against his headrest, and he could only sit there, eyes squeezed shut and breathing heavily for a long minute.

Until he realized that his car was stopped. He wasn’t moving anymore.

And the crash he’d expected had never occurred.

He felt numb, limbs trembling beyond his control, and it was quiet besides the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears and the wheezes that forced their way out of his lungs.

He knew he had to open his eyes though. He had to see what the fuck had happened.

He was fucking terrified to, not knowing what he’d find, but he did, slowly, bravely….

And when the white seeped out of the edges of his vision and the world came into crisp clarity again, what he found was that BMW stopped in front of him, the corner of his own Jeep’s bumper a literal inch from that other driver’s door.

Zoro couldn’t move for a good few moments, wide eyes fixed straight ahead of him, at the vague shape of that driver, whose tinted windows obscured their face, undamaged.

Shuddering breaths laced with lingering adrenaline, fear, and _relief,_ and finally Zoro managed to lift an arm, immediately putting his car in ‘Park’ so he could take his foot off the brake and lean forward to press his forehead against the steering wheel.

 _“F-Fuck,”_ he breathed, closing his eyes again, just for a moment.

He just needed to calm himself down. Then he’d fucking deal with this.

It was only another minute though before he heard the faint sound of a window rolling down, and then, a voice that sounded as shaky as his.

“H-Hey! You okay?”

Zoro opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see the BMW driver had indeed lowered his window and was partially leaning out to try and see into his own car.

A deep breath, and he sat up, fingers fumbling first with the volume, turning his music way down, then with the buttons beneath his own window, accidentally rolling down the back window for a second before he found the button for his own.

With his window coming down, it afforded him a clear view of the other driver’s face. 

It was a man, and he looked young, maybe even around his own age. His blond hair was longer, shaggy, and it obscured half of his face, Zoro wondering if it was a result of the jostling of his own car screeching to a halt.

His visible blue eye was opened wide, looked scared and shaken as well, but also incredibly concerned as he finally locked eyes with Zoro.

Zoro swallowed, struck for a moment by just _how_ blue his eye was, ultimately finding it a little comforting to see his own fear mirrored on this other guy’s face so well, and he managed a nod.

“Yeah---yeah, I’m good. You?”

The blond nodded as well, and Zoro saw him bring a cigarette up to his lips with a trembling grasp, taking a long drag before he tossed it forcefully onto the street with a growl and he fell back against his own seat, raking hands through his hair.

 _“Fuck_ that bastard!” he eventually hissed, smacking his steering wheel hard. “What the hell! The light was clearly fucking red!”

“I know,” Zoro huffed, peering behind his car as the details slowly began coming back to him.

They were still in the middle of the intersection, cars now backing up behind each of them, horns honking and people leaning out of their car windows to try and see what was going on.

 _“Get out of the road!”_ one helpful asshole shouted from somewhere, causing the blond to scowl and crane his head behind him with a flash of his middle finger out the window.

“Think we should call the cops?” Zoro mumbled, completely unsure of what to do, never having been in a situation like this.

“Dunno,” the blond replied before asking again, “You’re not hurt?”

Zoro shook his head, even glancing over his own body just to be sure. That fucking seatbelt might leave a bruise, but otherwise, he felt fine.

“Me neither,” said the other man. “I didn’t feel my car get hit, but I think I’m gonna pull over and check it out anyway. If we need it, I can give you my insurance info. Though what we _really_ need is that shithead’s info…”

More considerate honking and shouting from the intersection, enough to have the blond roll his eyes before he shifted gears in his own car and jerked his head off to the right, bringing his gaze back to Zoro.

“You in a rush? Wanna just follow me? You’re already halfway turned this way anyway,” he said, and Zoro found himself rather impressed with how calm, albeit _pissed,_ this guy was acting. But he supposed maybe _he_ hadn’t had the image of his car hurtling straight towards another imprinted in his mind like Zoro had…

With no better response, Zoro simply nodded and mumbled, “Kay,” half-wondering if he’d even be able to drive again with how shaky he still felt.

But he willed his nerves to settle some, and turned his wheel hard, making a semi U-turn and following after the blond when he turned his car down another street.

He somehow managed to keep it together, a vicegrip on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the blond’s license plate, from in-state, unlike his own, that, strangely, read, ‘COOK69.’

It was fucking weird enough that it actually elicited a snort from Zoro, despite everything, and he found himself glad when the guy pulled into a large parking lot for an office building, stopping in a space at a far corner by a row of bushes blooming with red flowers.

Zoro pulled in too, a little crooked, but leaving a parking space between them so they could both examine their cars easily.

He shut off his Jeep and sat there for a second with a sigh before forcing himself to unbuckle and get out of the car.

First glance upon shutting his door saw no dents or scratches in the dark green exterior. No damage to his front bumper either. _Fuck,_ had he ever been lucky. Almost _too_ lucky, it seemed.

He made his way around his own car to see the blond guy already out and inspecting his own, even crouching down and running fingers over the perfectly undamaged paint of his door.

“Yours looks okay too,” Zoro mumbled, shoving hands in his pocket to hide the lingering tremors and leaning back against the hood of his car.

“Yeah. Thank fuck,” the other man breathed, eventually straightening and turning around to face Zoro. “My grandpa would’ve murdered me if anything happened to it.”

“This not your car?” Zoro asked.

“Well, it is,” the man replied. “High school graduation gift. But I’m working to pay it off.”

“Swanky-ass gift,” Zoro couldn’t help but snort, eyeing how damn expensive the car looked now that he got a better look at it.

In fact, everything about the blond practically screamed high-class, particularly that white vest he wore over a short-sleeve floral button-down and the pair of aviator sunglasses he wore atop his head. Nothing like the blue tank top from his school’s kendo team Zoro had thrown on that morning, his ratty pair of combat boots.

The guy was practically a walking display of wealth, or at least a walking illusion of one, and it was actually pretty annoying when there were people over here (as in, himself) relying on scholarships and heavy financial aid just to scrape through college.

“Stupid license plate though,” Zoro added to make himself feel better, even if it made him sound like a dick.

“Shut up. It was a joke gift from my friend. Haven’t gotten around to changing it yet,” the blond muttered sulkily, fishing in his back pocket for something, which turned out to be a fancy golden lighter and a cigarette, and he lit up without a care.

A soothing drag that seemed to relax him a bit before he popped the cigarette from his mouth and stepped forward to close the distance between them, a hand outstretched.

“I’m Sanji,” he said. “Know it wasn’t your fault, but thanks for not crashing into me with that monster truck you’ve got.”

Zoro glanced back at his own weathered Jeep, wondering whether or not to be offended before he decided to let that one slide in favor of reaching out to shake Sanji’s hand.

“Zoro,” he replied, eventually dropping the blond’s hand and crossing arms over his chest a little awkwardly.

The guy’s attitude seemed kind of cool on the surface, but Zoro couldn’t help but feel like Sanji was judging him somewhat, particularly when he gave Zoro a clear once-over.

But he simply asked, “You go to EBU?”

Zoro furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Yeah…” he replied slowly. “But how did you…?”

“Your shirt, idiot,” Sanji shot back with a grin, nodding towards the rather obvious ‘East Blue University’ that was scrawled at the top, over a white logo of crossed swords.

Zoro rolled his eyes a little and shifted uncomfortably, especially when Sanji’s gaze drifted to his car behind him and the mountain of stuff he had piled in the back seat.

“So do I,” Sanji eventually said, to Zoro’s surprise, bringing his attention back to the swordsman’s face. “I commute. Just finished my last final. You leaving town for the summer?”

Again, Zoro had to nod, narrowing eyes when Sanji laughed in reply for seemingly no reason. 

“Why were you heading back towards campus then? You forget something?”

“Wha--- _no!”_ Zoro stammered, feeling his face heat. “I was _leaving_ campus! Following the damn GPS and everything!”

Sanji’s eyes flicked to Zoro’s car again before he shook his head and replied with a sly, unconvinced, _“Uh huh.”_

As terrible as it was, Zoro was starting to wish he _had_ crashed into this pretentious dick.

“Well, anyway. We’re both fine, and the cars are too. And as much as I wanna kill that red-light-running bastard, guess there’s nothing else we can do,” Sanji was muttering, teeth clenched around his cigarette. “So that’s that?”

“Guess so,” Zoro replied, shrugging and already drifting backwards towards his car again.

“See ya around, Zoro,” Sanji said, pulling his phone briefly out of his back pocket to check the time before shoving it back in behind his wallet out of habit. “Good luck finding home.”

“Good luck not getting run over by anyone else,” Zoro shot back darkly, but Sanji just gave a snicker and a short little salute before opening his door and sliding into the low seat, an action that caused his wallet to tumble from his pocket onto the pavement below, though neither of them noticed right away.

Zoro sighed, watching him start up his car and pull out of the space to exit the parking lot and get back to the main road.

Of course, _that_ was the convenient moment the swordsman noticed the dark object sitting on the ground where Sanji’s car had just been parked.

His brows furrowed, and he stooped closer, but the second he realized it was a wallet, he panicked.

Quickly, a hand darted out and he snatched it up, taking it and sprinting off across the parking lot after him, shouting, “Hey!” to try and get his attention.

But Sanji was driving fast, already some thirty spaces away near the exit, blinker on and everything.

“Hey! Fucking--- _hello?!”_ Zoro huffed, pushing himself to run faster, but having to dodge other cars that rolled past as well. “You forgot your damn---!”

Too late. The blond’s car was already leaving the parking lot. No hope of catching him on foot.

 _“Idiot!”_ Zoro growled, nearly slamming the wallet down onto the ground out of frustration.

He slowed, now on the sidewalk outside the parking lot, breaths panting as he wondered what the hell he should do.

He looked down at the plain black wallet, then decided to open it, finding a tempting wad of cash inside, as well as a debit card and some gift cards shoved into slots on one of the pockets. He flipped it over and found Sanji’s student ID, his photo looking a right sight better than Zoro’s. He was actually smiling unlike the mug shot Zoro had gotten stuck with.

Sanji Vinsmoke….okay, but this really wasn’t going to help him at all without---

He turned a second card holder over and was rewarded with the guy’s actual driver’s license, a newly-minted horizontal one, Sanji again smiling rather naturally, blue background working well with his blond hair. Why the fuck was this guy so photogenic?

Zoro didn’t worry about that though, instead scanning the card’s information until he found Sanji’s address near the bottom.

Fuck. He should return it. That would be the right thing to do. What if the guy got pulled over now? He’d be in some deep shit.

Zoro wasn’t going to _steal_ it. Hell no. But it was still a pain in the ass to go out of his way to deliver the thing when Sanji had been stupid enough to drop it and not notice in the first place. He was lucky he hadn’t run it over with a tire.

Zoro grumbled his irritation to himself all the way back to his car, that irritation replacing all the jitters that had still run through him after his near-collision as he closed out his current route on his phone and punched in Sanji’s address instead.

It wasn’t far, thankfully, and he knew there wasn’t necessarily a set time his uncle was expecting him home. So...it looked like he’d be taking a little side trip.

He just hoped he didn’t show up at some gated mansion...

* * *

He didn’t. In fact, it would have been surprising to anyone that knew Zoro that he managed to find the place without any directional mishaps whatsoever.

Maybe his directions had been right, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to be taken down a small backstreet behind a row of waterfront businesses, the GPS direction eventually ending directly behind a _restaurant_ of all places.

But, lo and behold, there was Sanji’s blue car, already parked in the small gravel lot behind the large three-tiered building, and there was Sanji, with the driver’s side door open, practically crawling under the seat as if in search of something. Something that Zoro lifted up as he rolled down his window with a smirk on his face.

“Looking for this?” he called smugly out the window when his car pulled up behind Sanji’s.

And he had to suppress a laugh when the blond _shot_ up, nearly bashing his head on the car ceiling in his haste to stand.

He stammered for a second, looking confused as hell to see Zoro again before his gaze locked on to the wallet in Zoro’s hand and he bolted across to Zoro’s passenger door, practically diving in through the open window.

 _“Yes,_ thank fuck!” he screeched, reaching desperately for it. “Holy shit---where did--- _thank you!”_

Zoro held it away from him teasingly for a second, eliciting a brief glare from the blond, but he ultimately plopped it into the guy’s hand.

“I already took twenty bucks for myself to cover the gas that I wasted bringing it back here,” he said, grinning when Sanji immediately scrambled to count his cash.

Of course, he soon discovered it was all accounted for though so he slapped it shut and growled, “Asshole…”

That was when his eyes drifted around the interior of Zoro’s car, at the bags and boxes stacked high in the back seat, practically obscuring the back window….and the rather appalling array of greasy, discarded burrito wrappers in the front seat.

“What the _fuck?!”_ Sanji shrieked, as if Zoro was harboring a dead body in his car. “What the hell are those!”

It actually took Zoro a good few seconds to realize what the fuck Sanji was talking about, the swordsman jolting in his seat.

“What are what---?” he yelped, quickly looking at the floor for a possible vermin infestation. There was no other possibility given the way the guy had screeched in horror.

 _“These,_ you neanderthal!” Sanji insisted, jabbing a disgusted finger at the wrappers on the seat. “Are you seriously stuffing your face with Taco Bell?!”

Zoro blinked, staring at Sanji like he’d lost his mind for a second, then slowly looking down to where he pointed.

 _“Yes!”_ he squawked back. “I was hungry! It’s cheap! They have a drive-thru!”

“So _what?!”_ the blond shouted, sounding _thoroughly_ offended for some unknown reason. He slammed hands down on the edge of the passenger window and gave the car a hard shove, managing to rock it a little.

“Okay, look. Pull your stupid monster truck in here,” he then said, to Zoro’s bewilderment. “Right next to mine, come on. I’m making you real food! You better still be hungry!”

He backed off then, gesturing for Zoro to park his car on the gravel plot beside his, gesturing more insistently the longer Zoro didn’t move, just gaped at him.

“Why?” the swordsman finally managed to stammer out for lack of anything better to say.

Sanji just threw up his hands as if the answer should be obvious.

“Because that food is absolute shit! And I am a legitimate gourmet chef! It’s insulting!” he growled. “Now come on! I’ll kick fucking dents in your car if you don’t!”

Zoro pulled a face, raising a brow at the crazy blond.

“You’re insane!” he barked right back.

But dammit….he _was_ still hungry.

And he _did_ have Mr. Cook69 standing here before him….

It was a split-second decision that had him wrenching the wheel hard to the right and screeching into the open space beside Sanji’s car, rolling up his window and shutting off his car before hopping out and slamming the door shut behind him.

“This’d better be damn good, you weirdo. ‘Cause I got places to be!” He didn’t.

“It’ll take a half hour tops,” the blond said, closing his own car door and rummaging for his keys as he led the way to a discreet door at the back of the building.

Zoro was confused. This was the address on Sanji’s driver’s license. But this was a _restaurant._ Surely someone who flaunted his wealth this much couldn’t live _here,_ up this shady dark stairwell inside the door, creaky wood, lack of windows and all.

“You try and murder me, I’ll cut you. I’m on the kendo team,” Zoro growled, to which Sanji merely scoffed as he ascended the stairs ahead of him.

“Go ahead and try. I kickbox. Minus the boxing part most of the time,” Sanji answered, not even turning around to look at him until he reached the landing of a narrow hallway that was only slightly better lit by a small window at the end.

He flipped on a light switch, which helped, but didn’t change the fact that the place was small and claustrophobic.

Sanji headed through a doorway that led into a living room, just off the main hallway. It was small as well, modest, with not much more than a couch, an armchair, and a small flatscreen TV mounted on the wall over an antique-looking chest full of drawers. Heavy curtains were pulled to the side, a little sloppily, to reveal the only window in the room that looked out over the connected restaurant in front, glimpses of the parking lot beyond.

It was weird, but the room kind of smelled like the sea, Zoro thought as he followed Sanji through another doorway into a kitchen. Sure, it was _by_ the sea, but why should the whole building smell like it?

And suddenly, it was far more bright. The kitchen’s wood walls were painted white, opening up the space significantly compared to the dark tones of the rest of the place. The curtains near the window were kind of ugly, light blue with fucking ducks on them. Talk about random. It was also a small room, with naught but a two-person table against the wall by said window as means of seating, but it was clear how much love and attention went into the cooking space, perhaps all of it concentrated there.

The appliances were state-of-the-art, the fridge huge, with an ample freezer, pots and pans organized and hanging from a metal rack on the ceiling, stylish, pristine knives situated over the counter, almost on display.

Zoro didn’t cook beyond cereal and the stereotypical college kid’s ramen, or box mac and cheese. But even he could tell this was a proper work space for someone who knew their way around a kitchen.

“Have a seat,” Sanji said, gesturing towards the little table before he poked his head in the fridge. “My grandpa’s car wasn’t here, so he must’ve gone out to do errands before the dinner shift. You like spice? How ‘bout I do enchiladas?”

“Whatever you want,” Zoro muttered, pulling back a chair and taking a seat at the table. “Not like this isn’t weird enough as is…”

“Be glad I’m not charging you,” Sanji replied simply, to which Zoro shrieked, “I didn’t _ask_ for this!”

A scoff from the blond, which was _completely_ unwarranted as far as Zoro knew. Here the guy was acting entirely put out by this when _he_ was the one practically forcing food down his guest’s gullet.

“I’m used to feeding vagabonds, anyway,” the cook said, ignoring Zoro as he began pulling out ingredients, ground beef, onions, cheese. Then he moved to preheat the oven and grab flour and other shit Zoro didn’t recognize from a few cabinets.

It was Zoro’s turn to scoff, the swordsman plopping his chin into a hand and watching as the blond’s cooking utensils began to accumulate efficiently on the counter space.

“So is this like....your job?” he asked.

“Yup,” Sanji replied, already measuring out flour and salt, as well as water and oil, all of which went into a bowl that he soon began mixing. “I work at my grandpa’s restaurant on weekends. Full-time during the summer.”

“Then what do you go to EBU for? Majoring in food?”

“Right, because ‘Food’ is a major,” the cook shot back, throwing a look over his shoulder at Zoro. “Double majoring in culinary arts and restaurant management. Lot of work, but I’ve grown up with this shit. It comes pretty naturally.”

“Huh,” was all Zoro said, supposing that must be so considering the weirdo was already forming tortillas out of the dough he’d apparently been making, tossing them into a pan like a seasoned pro.

“What about you?” Sanji asked above the sounds of sizzling. “We get it. You do kendo. You’ve obnoxiously advertised it enough. But your major?”

“Athletic training,” Zoro answered, immediately followed by an irritating snort from the asshole blond.

“Should’ve known. Musclehead like you…” he replied.

“Hey!” Zoro screeched. “I haven’t said shit about your stupid wannabe fashion model look! Why are you such an asshole?”

The cook merely chuckled though, took his sunglasses, still on his head, and hooked them on his shirt collar instead with another glance at Zoro, this time with a smirk and a teasing quirk of his brow.

“What? Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he said, and it was the way his eyes met Zoro’s for a split second that had the swordsman’s heart do a sudden flip in his chest.

It was over in an instant, however, and Zoro had to wonder if he’d imagined that little spark that had suddenly seared in the air.

He probably had.

The cook was moving finished tortillas to a plate he lined with paper towels, just before he crouched down to pull a small baking dish from a lower cabinet by the sink.

“Anyway, you any good at kendo?” Sanji asked as he stood again, readying two skillets on the back burners of the stove, one for the meat, it looked like, and another for sauce. “I didn’t even know the school had a team.”

“Uh, am I any good?” Zoro scoffed indignantly, Sanji’s question thankfully chasing away any of the strange embarrassment he’d felt moments ago. “Best on the team. This is my third year winning States.”

“No shit,” the blond replied, actually sounding genuinely impressed this time, and it was enough to bring a grin to Zoro’s face.

For some reason, he stood and walked over to the stove, standing by the counter to lean there and watch the guy work.

Sanji glanced over at him briefly, but he said nothing about Zoro’s approach, lips merely turning up ever so slightly.

“You said you kickbox,” Zoro said. _“You_ any good?”

“I don’t compete or anything, but yeah,” Sanji said, one wooden spoon tending to the beef he now had browning in one skillet, another simultaneously working on the red sauce in the other. “Been doing it since I was ten.”

“You don’t compete? Why do it then?” the swordsman replied, as if there were no other reason to, his attention shifting from the stirring meat to Sanji’s face.

Surprisingly, for the first time, Sanji’s expression darkened a bit, just for an instant before he simply shrugged, adding a bit of salt to the beef.

“I like it? Isn’t that reason enough?” he justified. “Gave me a confidence boost when I was little anyway.”

He turned to look at Zoro as well, and when their gazes met head-on, it made him realize how close he’d unconsciously stood to the blond.

“What about you? Do you _only_ do kendo for the competitions?”

Zoro thought about backing up a step, but when Sanji didn’t appear to be put out by his proximity, he stayed where he was, under the cook’s expectant stare.

“I---” he started, then mumbled, “No…” a little sulkily, his own expression flickering into something deeper as well.

Sanji seemed to notice this, but he said nothing, just turned his head back to his work with a satisfied, “Well, there you go.”

A few moments passed before the blond continued, “So you go to EBU. Best guy on the kendo team. Ridiculous beast of a car that matches your mosshead.” His lips turned up hearing the disgruntled noise Zoro made. “You live on campus?”

“Just off,” Zoro grumbled, now sulking from the stupid hair comment. “Got a house with three other guys.”

“Jeez,” Sanji muttered enviously. “I still live here with the old geezer.”

He seemed to pause for a moment, almost considering his next words, eyes darting to Zoro for the briefest of moments before he looked away again.

“Must be nice for having girls over,” he said casually.

But Zoro merely wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes at the comment.

“Who says I have _girls_ over?” he asked, almost sounding disgusted by the very idea, and certainly appalled that Sanji would suggest it.

This seemed to catch the cook off-guard, the blond quickly stammering to come up with a response, not expecting Zoro’s.

“Well--- _don’t_ you?” he asked, as if he were speaking of something that should be universal. Or at least something he’d convinced _himself_ should be such… “That’s like every dude’s dream…”

“Not _every_ dude’s, asshole,” Zoro grumbled without hesitation, body language automatically closing as he crossed arms over his chest. “I got no interest in shit like that.”

Again, Sanji seemed lost for words for a second, hands continuing his cooking, but his mouth stuttering uselessly.

 _“Sorry,”_ he eventually forced out. “I dunno, I just _assumed....”_

He trailed off, but despite saying nothing more, Zoro could tell. He could tell the question that still ran through the stupid cook’s mind. The question that _usually_ ran through people’s minds afterwards. At least, the very few people he’d even discussed this shit with. And now here he was having this discussion with a practical stranger. What a weird fucking day.

“Go ahead. Ask it. You’re thinking it,” Zoro challenged, watching Sanji’s features morph from surprise, through embarrassment, to eventual conviction.

His gaze hardened, and he set down his spoon to turn and face Zoro fully with a huff.

“What about guys?” he asked.

Zoro was ready with the answer right away, also ready for the look of confusion that would assault Sanji’s face. It might be satisfying.

“Not guys either,” Zoro stated confidently, and indeed, the way Sanji looked at him like he’d suddenly turned into an alien was pretty damn amusing.

“So what _are_ you into?” Sanji interrogated, suspicion in his tone. “If you come at me with some twisted shit like fucking---you’re in love with your _swords_ or---”

“Right, ‘cause this is some reality show. Are you really that dumb? I’m just not into anyone. Never felt it, and don’t really have any desire to. S’always been that way. Simple as that,” Zoro replied, finding it hard to believe that someone could be _this_ baffled with his answer. Maybe he’d start grilling _Sanji_ while he was at it. 

“I just---” Sanji started to say, brows knit together almost painfully before he eventually shook his head and seemed to accept it, frowning and looking more resigned.

Zoro watched him go back to his food, a feeling of awkwardness now stretching between them that hadn’t been there before.

He watched the cook start to place tortillas into the baking dish, methodically adding meat, sauce, and cheese, along with freshly chopped peppers and onions and a tiny bit of chilies.

Great. Had the conversation topic really shut the guy down entirely?

Zoro honestly didn’t give a flying fuck about his sexuality...or lack of such. It didn’t affect who he was as a person, and his _friends_ never gave him any shit over it. Never even teased him. They just _understood,_ just like he understood their preferences.

Even when they changed, he didn’t care.

Ace had been straight forever, as far as even _Ace_ knew, until he met Marco, and now they’d been dating for two years. So what?

Luffy couldn’t care less about romance because it wasn’t edible, and besides, his friends mattered most to him. That was fine.

And maybe Sabo had been with Koala since high school, but even he admitted he didn’t know what the fuck he was half the time, considering he’d been with the same girl for so long and, thus, had never experimented. He was happy with how things were, and that was just fine too.

Normally, this didn’t bother Zoro in the slightest, but there was something fucking…. _judgmental_ about that silence, and the fact that Zoro wasn’t against calling this guy out…

“Look, if it’s _so weird,_ why don’t you tell me how I _should_ be, huh?” Zoro grumbled. “You tellin’ me life’s so good for you with a cute, perfect little girlfriend and---?”

“Shut up!” Sanji hissed, practically throwing the last of the grated cheese on top of the enchiladas before yanking open the oven door and shoving the dish inside, punching in twenty minutes on a magnetic timer and slamming it onto the fridge.

 _“No,_ I don’t have a girlfriend, okay?” the blond continued, bitterness in his voice. “I did, two years ago, but it didn’t work out because---” He let out a sharp exhale. “Well, it just didn’t.”

Zoro looked at him curiously, feeling a bit of his irritation giving way to curiosity, and maybe a little bit of surprise, seeing the cook suddenly looking so vulnerable and conflicted.

“Hold on…” he said slowly, quirking a brow and looking the guy over with a bit more clarity. “Are you---in the _closet_ or something?”

 _“No!”_ Sanji instantly yelped, then winced a bit and took a cleansing breath.

“I don’t know…” he amended. “I thought I knew for a while. I knew what I wanted to want….wanted to be, because that’s how I’d always been, but---fuck, why am I telling _you_ this? _Fuck.”_

Sanji quickly turned away with a frustrated huff, hastily starting to clean up while the enchiladas baked.

If he was honest, Zoro began to feel a little bad for him, surprisingly. The fact that sexuality could matter to someone _that_ much? That it actually caused him _pain_ and frustration to try and work out just what he was?

Zoro couldn’t imagine it, but he did know one thing.

“No one’s dictating what you _should_ want or whatever,” he said as Sanji turned on the sink and began scrubbing furiously at a pan, steam from the cooler water against the still-hot pan rising up in front of him. _“You’re_ the only one who should. And not ‘cause of anyone else’s opinions. Limiting yourself is just stupid if it’s gonna make you unhappy. Why do that to yourself?”

“Because I care about letting people down!” Sanji growled, gaze intently focused on the sudsy sponge that worked furiously over the oily pan. “Or---or _confusing_ them about who I am---!”

“Is your sexuality _that_ important to who you are?” Zoro shot back, forcing Sanji to roll his eyes.

 _“Yes,_ mosshead! Not all of us can be robots like you! As appealing as that sounds sometimes….not all of us can just---turn off our attraction to people.”

“I don’t _turn it off,”_ Zoro insisted, exasperation in his tone. “It’s just---fuck, do I gotta spell it out?”

“Go for it, by all means,” Sanji muttered sarcastically, sticking the first pan into the other side of the split sink to dry off before moving to the next one. “Stop me from feeling like the only one emotionally compromised here.”

Zoro replied with a sarcastic laugh of his own, but he did quiet after a second, trying to figure out how to explain it to an idiot like this guy.

“I can still…” he started. “... _Like_ people and shit. It’s like---I dunno, anything beautiful---I’m not fucking blind. I know when someone’s good-looking. Guy or girl. But---my first instinct isn’t to fucking---jump ‘em and rip their clothes off or whatever the fuck happens. That just---makes the _least_ sense to me...”

Sanji seemed to consider this, his scrubbing slowing and his brow furrowing a bit as he stared down at the soapy water and the steady stream from the faucet.

Silence stretched between them again, but this time, Zoro decided to wait patiently, to see if the cook would spill what he was thinking. It would be fucking annoying if he didn’t.

But he did.

“Maybe it’s like that for me with….with guys,” the blond admitted quietly, almost testing the words as they came out of his mouth. “I’ve---I’ve felt _connections,_ but never---I mean, I’m not….physically attracted to them…”

Zoro sighed, watching how damn _concerned_ the guy seemed to be. Had no one ever helped him work this shit out before…? Not even himself…?

“Well, ‘kay, sounds fine to me,” Zoro eventually said. “Accept it and move on.”

And he couldn’t help but smirk a little. It wasn’t like Sanji would see it.

Except he looked up, met Zoro’s gaze with a softer look, one that seemed entirely lost and confused.

He seemed to take note of Zoro’s smirk for a second, eyes flicking to his lips before they were back on Zoro’s eyes.

“How…?” he asked, and this time, the swordsman couldn’t help the challenging tone that rose to his voice when he replied. Because the answer was easy, as far as he was concerned.

“Think about it, idiot. Did you explode on the spot just now, admitting that?”

This elicited a loud scoff from Sanji, but Zoro merely reached out to shove his shoulder and force him to go with it.

“Did you?” he prompted again, and Sanji finally muttered, “No.”

“Are you still you?” was the swordsman’s next question. “Do you still love cooking?”

Again, Sanji mumbled his reply, sounding a lot more annoyed this time, probably because Zoro was currently speaking to him like he was five years old.

 _“Yes…”_ he grumbled.

“And are you still an asshole---?”

“Okay, shut up, point taken!” the cook complained, lashing out with a foot to nail Zoro in the shin hard, enough to have him grabbing at the wounded area with a string of curses.

“Let’s just drop it,” he said, a pleased smirk on his face as he went back to the dishes, a smirk that Zoro found himself wanting to wipe _right_ off in a sparring match. “Food’ll be ready soon anyhow.”

He made sure to direct that smirk at Zoro one last time though before Zoro squeezed his eyes shut to try and shake the throbbing pain that still shot through his leg.

When he opened them again, it was still surprising to him how much light that kitchen really radiated….

How much _Sanji_ radiated…

…

…

Rhythmic beeping.

It was the timer for sure.

Was twenty minutes already up? 

That went fast. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing, talking to…..to…..

Voices.

 _Dammit,_ that room was bright. _Why_ was it so…? Maybe he should close his eyes again to---

_“.....Zoro……”_

Fucking hell. Where was he again? He was….he was hungry, right?

That was the timer. It was time for---for…..no, he had Taco Bell. And he was gonna floor it through the intersection because---

_“Zoro....!”_

His shin didn’t hurt anymore. His chest did. His entire _torso_ did. His head was throbbing, and the room was _so_ bright. Even when he closed those ugly curtains, it was---

_“Zoro….you with us, man?...Please….”_

He managed a groan, which really ended up being nothing more than a barely-there squeak, but he couldn’t exactly help it when _everything_ hurt.

The beeping grew louder….car horns? No…

For some reason, he expected to see an intersection. A blue BMW with a blond guy leaning out the window, asking if he was alright.

He didn’t see that. Why would he?

He saw dark, blurry shapes. Circular white lights. He heard gentle, female tones, felt a hand clamp down hard on his wrist.

A body nearly collided with his chest before another form yanked the first back, the former settling for collapsing against his arm, holding onto it tightly as the wetness of tears hit his bare skin.

 _“Sir….you’re in the hospital. You were in an accident, but you’ll be alright now,”_ he heard that unfamiliar female voice say.

A deeper, familiar one stammered out, _“F-Fuck.”_

He smelled Ace’s shitty cologne he always made fun of.

Beeping.

A hospital.

…

…

There had been someone else…..right?

* * *

Discharge day.

Three days they’d kept him before they deemed him fit to leave, which he’d been told was rather incredible by practically every doctor that looked him over. It apparently wasn’t common for someone to recover from cardiac arrest so quickly, almost miraculously so.

Shock and internal bleeding had caused it. The airbag had saved his head from the impact, and the seatbelt kept him from going through the windshield, but it had also left a nasty diagonal contusion across his entire upper body, broken ribs, which, in turn, punctured a lung.

The ambulance had gotten there quickly though, and this had been his saving grace. CPR on the way to the hospital. Immediate surgery from the best cardiothoracic surgeon in the city. He’d pulled through.

And now he was going home, finishing the journey he’d been on when all this had happened.

He was so fucking lucky. Probably because his monster truck of a Jeep had protected him so well.

Who had called it a monster truck…?

It didn’t matter. He’d been told his chances of survival had basically been one in a million.

And yet, one of the other nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine lay on the hospital bed before him.

His name was Sanji Vinsmoke, he’d learned. The driver of that blue BMW going the opposite direction.

The one his car had crashed directly into, nailing the driver’s side and sending the blond---Also a junior. At his own fucking school no less. A guy _his age_ \---into the same cardiac arrest he’d suffered.

Only this guy hadn’t come out.

He’d had surgery. They’d tried everything. But his head had suffered an impact, and the swelling in his brain had apparently been too much. He was unresponsive….

And now, this Sanji, someone he’d never met before but was now forever connected to, was on his last day of life support, his grandfather apparently going to pull the plug that evening, knowing it was better to let him go.

It wasn’t his fault.

Everyone had told Zoro this. No one blamed him, not even the guy’s grandfather. And deep-down, he knew it wasn’t. That third driver, the one who’d zoomed through that red light, had caused it. That nameless driver, whom the police had yet to find, was the one responsible.

But Zoro still stood there over Sanji’s bed, unable to stop slow tears from rolling down his cheeks as he stared solemnly at the blond, listened to those slow beeps of the machinery, watched the rise and fall of his chest that was only brought about by a carefully-timed whirring coming from a metal box beside his bed.

Who had he been? What had he been like? Had he been going home for the summer too?

He’d never know. Not even what color eyes he had…

His uncle was waiting for him at the car, but Zoro had insisted. He’d asked if it was okay, and he’d insisted that he come in here, that he look this person in the face and confront what had happened. What consequences it had wrought.

Bravely, Zoro stepped forward, closer to the blond’s bed, and, though he wasn’t sure if he should, he slowly lifted a hand.

He let it hover, for a long moment, over the blond’s, wondering what he would feel when he touched him. 

But he let out a breath, steeled his nerves and slid fingers over Sanji’s.

His hand felt normal, as warm and human as anyone else’s would be, and something about that had Zoro’s breath shudder, the swordsman sniffing back more hot tears.

This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fucking fair at all. If he could walk away from this, why shouldn’t this man?

If he could move on…..couldn’t Sanji do the same…?

 _“I’m sorry…”_ he finally managed to get out, his voice quiet and tight, full of sorrow and pain, the likes of which he hadn’t felt for years and years, not since he’d stood in a similar position, as a young boy over the coffin of his best friend.

 _“I-I’m sorry….”_ he breathed again, and he shook his head, squeezing the blond’s hand. _“I won’t forget this......f-fuck…”_

A surge of guilt and terror as his eyes fell on Sanji’s face, his closed eyes, rimmed with dark circles, the tube that protruded from his mouth, taped down over pale skin.

He closed his own eyes against the sight, and when he did, he could’ve sworn he saw a smirk…..he could’ve sworn Sanji’s eyes were….blue and…

He clenched teeth, gave Sanji’s hand one last squeeze, then he tore away.

He had to, or else he’d never want to leave...

* * *

_**Four months later…** _

* * *

Zoro’s uncle had told him that going back to school would be good. It would keep him busy again, get him active again.

But Zoro didn’t believe this. Not when he would be living the life someone else should have had.

He’d be there, back on campus, and he’d see Sanji everywhere, even more than he had back home.

He’d look at the picnic tables by the library, wonder if Sanji had ever sat there.

He’d see the groups of friends lounging about on the lawn, working on homework or just relaxing, and he’d wonder if Sanji had ever been there.

But most of all, he’d look at his repaired car, or the intersection where it had happened, and forever see the image of the blond stranger lying prone on that hospital bed.

Even if Ace, Luffy, and Sabo were thrilled to have him back, even they couldn’t help him feel much better. These thoughts had plagued him for months, for the entire summer, and he didn’t understand why.

These were feelings he’d experienced before, but with someone he’d actually known, someone who had been his friend for years, whom he’d deeply cared for, he could admit years later.

Sanji was a stranger. Someone he had never known and _would_ never know. 

It was stupid of him to feel this way. It was stupid and _selfish_ of him to feel this oddly attached when the man had no doubt had _real_ friends, _real_ family who were suffering far more than he.

He had no business feeling this way.

First night back at school though. He should go out with his friends, who were all in the kitchen pre-gaming because Ace wanted to hit this new club that had opened downtown since they’d last been together.

They were going to pick up Marco and Koala, and it was going to be a ridiculous night. Zoro wasn’t one for clubbing, but he’d occasionally tagged along for the booze and the hilarious images of his drunk friends dancing.

But now he didn’t feel like he could.

Bruises and injuries had healed.

His heart hadn’t.

They’d been disappointed, concerned even, when he voiced the desire to stay home, but ultimately, they’d let him, Ace insisting he text them if he needed anything and that they’d _talk_ later, which, in Ace-speak, meant unleashing _feelings_ that Zoro didn’t want to revisit or let out into the open.

But he’d agreed, and now the house was empty on a Saturday night, Zoro not even having it in him to order delivery because something told him the food was shit and he should have higher standards…

He’d sat on the couch with the TV on but not really watching, just kind of sitting there and staring as he often did, letting his mind inadvertently wander to places it shouldn’t.

That was when the doorbell rang.

It didn’t startle him, but it at least snapped him into the present, kept him from sinking too deep into thoughts that were dangerous to think.

Slowly, he straightened, glancing across the sparsely-decorated room to the door, beside which still sat a few unpacked moving boxes.

Who would be coming to the door now? Fuck if he knew. Better not be the cops coming to their side of the duplex by mistake. It had happened before when their neighbors were having a fucking loud party….

He got to his feet, padded across the room and didn’t bother to check the peephole before he opened the door, a stoic look on his face.

On the porch, under the light of the lamp by the door, stood a lanky blond man holding a tin-foil-covered dish of some sort. He ducked away from a few low-flying moths, looking a little freaked out by them before he brought eyes to Zoro’s with a tentative upturn of lips.

“Hi, um---” he started to say. “This is gonna sound weird, but I’m---”

_“---Sanji.”_

Zoro’s eyes were wide, and his heart was hammering hard because it was unmistakable.

He didn’t know why or _how,_ but this was him.

This was Sanji, who had so plagued his dreams for months and months.

Who was _dead_ as far as he knew….

“Whoa, uh, yeah. Didn’t think you’d know me,” the blond replied, surprise coloring his features for a moment before he relaxed again. “Green hair----check. And---well, kendo shirt, okay, check. Just like the geezer said. You Zoro?”

The swordsman could do nothing but stare, shocked, and nod slowly.

“Cool, well…”

Sanji huffed out a breath, stood up a little straighter and lifted the dish he held a little higher.

“Listen, I was hoping we could talk….? I made enchiladas. Better than Taco Bell, I promise. Can I….come in….?”

Zoro couldn’t move for a long moment, breaths coming extremely lightly, but he eventually nodded mutely again and stepped aside to let Sanji pass him.

But just before he did, some emotion snapped within him, enough to have him reach out and grab the man’s wrist as he moved through the threshold, something that immediately sent a powerful tremble through his entire body, but he forced himself to keep his hand there.

“Wait,” he said, and Sanji stopped, a shaky breath escaping him too as he met the intensity of Zoro’s gaze.

“Y-You’re---okay…?” Zoro stuttered, holding onto Sanji as if he’d disappear should he let go. “You’re really----okay?”

There was a long pause, Sanji’s lips parting slightly before he smiled, shifting his hand in Zoro’s grasp so he could squeeze the swordsman’s fingers back reassuringly.

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, like it was no big deal. “You’re not the only motherfucker with luck on your side.”

Zoro let out a breath, a relief more powerful than any he’d ever felt crashing over him.

And then, slowly, for the first time in months, a full-blown grin came to his lips.

He moved to shut the door behind the blond, letting him all the way in.

Sanji was still smiling, and his eyes were so blue. 

Of course they were. Zoro remembered.

* * *

**_~END~_ **

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> No idea where this came from. Always wear your seatbelt, my dudes.


End file.
